


love through the ages, through the eyes of a snake

by WillowFox



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Relationship, Crowley hates the 14th century, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Fluff, Fluff, For the angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I promise, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Slow Burn, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), There will be a happy ending, Wings, before and after the show, but it probably won't be super graphic, crowley's been in love since the garden of eden, episode 3 flashbacks through Crowley's eyes, just all of my favorite good omens fanfic tropes, not sure yet how many other characters will be involved, rated mature in case there's violence later on, romance fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-07 16:17:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 16,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20312404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WillowFox/pseuds/WillowFox
Summary: Crowley has been in love with Aziraphale since the beginning of time. He would do anything for his angel, even if his love is unrequited. (Is it, though?)This starts at the Garden of Eden and goes through some of the episode 3 flashbacks & the terrible 14th century, will touch on a few scenes from Armageddon, and then continue where the show left off, hitting all of my favorite Good Omens fanfiction tropes :)





	1. it was a beautiful day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is how it started

It was a beautiful day. All of the days so far had been beautiful. Crawley slithered amongst the grass at the bottom of the apple tree, watching them. The human, Eve, and the angel, Aziraphale, were standing together and conversing about the garden. This was highly inconvenient. None of the other angels had had direct contact with the new humans, but Aziraphale had always been a little odd. Him and his stupidly beautiful blue eyes and his tufts of almost- but not quite- angelic-white hair. Crawley had never interacted with Aziraphale before, but he had known _of_ him. He had watched him from a distance, quite possibly liking him more than the other angels. Quite possibly, this may have been part of why he Fell. 

It wasn’t because- well, maybe it had a little to do with how one shouldn’t pick favorites. Aside from Her, of course. But one should really love all thy neighbors as thyself, and not love thy one particular neighbor more than the others, and maybe even slightly dislike some of thine other neighbors. Of course, this was just Crawley’s personal interpretation of the Rule. He wasn’t quite sure he understood it correctly, but perhaps he wasn’t meant to. He’d brought up this Rule with some of the other angels. Just trying to understand the specifics. But of course, one question led to another, and pretty soon the whole lot of them were questioning Her. Just trying to understand, they told themselves, yet really they felt some doubt about the whole thing. Surely not enough doubt to justify their Fall, they thought. Afterwords, they told themselves they didn’t need Her. They’d been rejected from the family, but now they had freedom they’d never had before. Even still. It hurt, a little bit. Maybe a lot, but Crawley wouldn’t admit to that. 

But anyway. Here he was, looking up at this glowing angel, the funny one, the <strike>cute</strike> interesting one. The one who didn’t necessarily break rules, but did break social norms. Here he was, consorting with the humans, who were, as everyone else assumed, supposed to be left alone to their own devices. It had never been explicitly stated, but it was assumed, all the same. How was it that Crawley had fallen and Aziraphale had not? Crawley tried to tell himself he wasn’t jealous. Although on the other hand, perhaps envy was something he should strive for. Being a demon and all. 

“Oh yes, it’s quite lovely,” Aziraphale was saying to Eve, touching one of the blooms on the tree that hadn’t yet produced a fruit. “Pity the fruit isn’t for eating. It looks quite scrumptious.”

Crawley hissed very softly in amusement. At this rate, perhaps Aziraphale would do his job for him. 

Crawley had to wait quite a while for Aziraphale to finish talking to Eve and leave. Adam was on his way back from gathering other fruits for supper, and Crawley didn’t have much time left to accomplish his task. He slithered up to Eve in what he hoped was a friendly manner, and whispered in her ear about how eating the apple couldn’t possibly be _so_ bad, and how it likely would bring her knowledge that she was missing. Eve, of course, had never encountered anything bad thus far in her short existence, and now being guided by a creature from the Garden, decided to follow his advice and take the apple. She bit into it just as Adam returned, then held it out for him to try. 

—

This business with the apple had been Crawley’s first real task as a demon and it had gone splendidly. So splendid, in fact, that he had been assigned to the On-Planet position in tempting the future generations of Adam and Eve as well as other humans scattered throughout the world (of course, She had instructed her Angels to make other humans in various locations so that the race as a whole could multiply and cover the planet). He slithered up to the wall to watch Adam and Eve leave the garden, and was pleased to find Aziraphale standing there as well. Crawley transformed into his demon form, similar to how his angelic form had looked, but with black wings and black clothing. 

He glanced at Aziraphale out of the corner of his eye, trying to come up with something intelligent to say. “Seems like a bit of an overreaction, if you ask me,” he said. “First offense and all, not really knowing anything about consequences yet. And it seems like it’d be useful to know about good and bad anyway.”

“Well it must be bad, Crawley,” said Aziraphale, looking sad, (Crawley felt a feeling he hadn’t felt before, learning that Aziraphale knew his name) “or else you wouldn’t have tempted them into it.” (Of course. Everything associated with Crawley was bad. Being a demon.) 

“Well I mean, they just said, get up there and cause some trouble. They didn’t really specify and all.” 

“Well obviously. You’re a demon; you naturally find the worst things to do.” He didn’t say it harshly, just in a matter-of-fact sort of way.

“Still think it wasn’t very subtle. Giant ‘don’t touch’ sign in the middle of a garden. Makes you wonder what She’s really planning.”

“Best not to speculate. Her plan is _ineffable._” Aziraphale says it reverently.

“Ineffable?”

“Exactly. It can’t be put into words. It’s not for us to understand.” 

The first thunder rumbled in the distance. Crawley looked out over the desert and saw gray storm clouds brewing. He also saw Adam and Eve, with Adam holding a flaming sword. “Hang on,” he said. “Didn’t _you_ have a flaming sword?”

Aziraphale avoided Crawley’s gaze. 

“Gave it away, did you?” asked Crawley, a smile playing at the edges of his mouth. 

“It was just - it’s dangerous out there, and she’s pregnant already, and- Oh, I hope I didn’t do the wrong thing.”

Now Crawley was really smiling. “You’re an angel. I don’t think you can do the wrong thing.”

“Oh, thank you ever so much. It’s been bothering me.”

Crawley said something about how he’d been worrying about doing the right thing, too, but he was distracted. It was starting to rain for the first time, and Aziraphale had stretched a wing out over Crawley’s head, shielding him from the droplets. 

This angel. Talking with the humans, admiring the garden out of true interest and not just obligation to admire Her work - this angel who _knew his name_ already, talking to him like he was an equal, and here he was shielding him from the rain while getting soaked himself. Crawley felt the beginnings of something inside him. Something he knew was very un-demonic. He pushed it down and gazed out over the desert. 

“I’ve been assigned to stay on-planet after this,” said Aziraphale.

“Oh, me too,” said Crawley. He said it as if this wasn’t exactly what he had been hoping to hear. He hesitated, considering. “Suppose I’ll see you down there,” he tried to sound casual.

“Oh. Yes, I suppose.” 

Crawley looked out over the desert, over Adam and Eve fighting off a Lion, and tried to maintain a noncommittal expression.

—

It was a while before Crawley saw Aziraphale next. 1,656 years, to be exact. They had been in different parts of the world until then, but Crawley had a way of hearing about events on the planet through various sources. He’d never admit this to himself, but a small part of him knew that he’d set this up more to keep an eye on Aziraphale than to keep an eye on demonic happenings. He just hadn’t had a legitimate reason to visit Aziraphale. Until Now.

For a while now, demons had been sent to Mesopotamia in particular to tempt the humans, and reports spoke of wild success. Crawley had not been particularly interested in this endeavor, preferring to cause minor annoyances in other parts of the world where demons were scarce. But then he heard, through his network of contacts, that the angel Aziraphale was in the area, and that there was a man who believed that God was going to flood the Earth. This was something Crawley needed to see. He traveled to Mesopotamia immediately, as if he was heeding the call - very belatedly - to tempt human souls in the area. He barely set up any evidence of residing there for any length of time (a room, some belongings, a few contacts in the village) before seeking out the angel.

It was the day of the supposed flood when he found him. Crawley walked up from behind Aziraphale, trying to appear as casual as possible, and said, “Hello, Aziraphale.” 

“Crawley,” said Aziraphale. Crawley pushed down a wave of warm feelings that Aziraphale still remembered who he was, and more than that, could recognize his voice without looking. He wondered if Aziraphale had known he was in the area. 

“I heard about the flood,” said Crawley.

“Yes,” said Aziraphale. “Wiping out the locals, for too much wickedness. I suppose that was your side’s doing.”

“I suppose,” agreed Crawley. “But what about the kids? You can’t kill kids.” 

Aziraphale nodded solemnly. “It’s the great plan. Ineffable. But after all this, there’s going to be this new thing - a rainbow, to promise not to drown everyone again.”

Crawley scoffed. “How kind.” 

Thunder boomed and the first drops of water began to fall. One of the unicorns made a run for it. 

—

They saw each other a little more frequently after that. Emboldened by the fact that Aziraphale had remembered him and didn’t seem to particularly mind him showing up (not that he was particularly friendly, either), Crawley continued to keep close tabs on Aziraphale and find ways to bump into him. He changed his name to Crowley - it sounded better, but it was also a way to distance himself a bit from his crawling, demonic snake form.

At a Roman tavern in 41 AD, Crowley managed to conveniently show up just before Aziraphale arrived. He was wearing sunglasses, now.

“Crawley- Crowley?” said Aziraphale, noticing him. Crowley pushed down a wave of warmth that he’d remembered his name change. Tricky thing, name changes. Most of Hell still hadn’t gotten it, even though he interacted with them far more often than he did with Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale sat down next to Crowley, who ordered a drink for him, as if it were the most natural thing to do.

“Still a demon, then?” asked Aziraphale. 

“What kind of a stupid question is that?” Crowley snapped. Ouch. Harsher than he intended, but the question had stung a little. He’d mostly gotten used to being a demon and not feeling inferior to angels, but he didn’t want to feel like Aziraphale was looking down on him. 

“Just trying to make conversation,” Aziraphale said. There was a long, awkward silence. “I’ve been meaning to try Petronius’s new restaurant,” said Aziraphale. “Care to join me?”

Crowley took a sip of his wine. He considered declining, on principle. He was a demon, after all. But he _wanted_ this. “I suppose.”

They walked together to Petronius’s, Crowley listening as Aziraphale bubbled about anything and everything on his mind. Crowley made little noises each time Aziraphale paused, to let him know he was still listening. This was nice. It was almost like they were friends. 

In the restaurant, Crowley barely ate any of his food, so distracted by watching Aziraphale’s reactions to each course and how much he seemed to enjoy this. It was decent - especially the oysters, Crowley had to admit that. But Aziraphale really, really loved this. He was passionate about it. Crowley slowly became aware that he was staring at Aziraphale and smiling, warmly, very un-demonic. 

“How are the oysters, dear?” asked Aziraphale, pulling Crowley out of his thoughts, and into what felt like a bath of butterflies. _Dear_. It was probably something he said to everyone, Crowley reasoned. Still. He decided to try something in response.

“They’re excellent, angel.”

Aziraphale smiled but didn’t blush. It seemed to have gone over fine. This was normal. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a demon and an angel sharing a meal together. And Crowley was going to use this name a lot more. 

—

A few more centuries passed with their occasional meetings, and eventually, the Arrangement. Crowley put it forth as a brilliant idea to have less work to do. Like he was just lazy, because of the whole demon thing, you know. And this would save them both so much trouble. It wasn’t entirely untrue - Crowley _was_ lazy. But also, he wanted the Arrangement for other reasons. It would be a sort of contract, a bond, between them. And another reason for them to stay in contact. He hated when they would go years without speaking, and Crowley usually knew where Aziraphale was, roughly, thanks to his network. But he didn’t always have a real reason to contact him. He looked forward to a future with more Aziraphale in it. However, he didn’t know what was waiting for him in the 14th century.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I was going to wait until I had the whole thing written before I started posting, but decided I would really benefit from some more motivation to keep writing, so please let me know if you liked it :) I'll also take feedback on the characterization & any fun ideas you have that I might want to include in future chapters.


	2. the 14th century

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reasons why Crowley hates the 14th century.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains mentions of the plague and other unpleasant things that happened during the plague

It started with a famine in 1317. Crowley had been messing with people and their crops just as he’d been instructed to, but it had started to get out of hand. People were hungry. While Crowley didn’t need food to survive, he also didn’t like not having any. But what he especially didn’t like was the level of despair he saw - even cannibalism and infanticide. No one wanted to live like this. 

And then there were the wars. People were dying, and demons were being sent out to tempt as many as possible before they died, to bring them to Hell. Day after day among people you knew were probably going to die in the next week, trying to get them to ruin their lives as quickly as possible so that they’d be souls for Hell. It was unpleasant, even for a demon, but nothing compared to when the Black Death began. 

Crowley caught wind of the plague pretty early on, and immediately claimed credit for it.

“I’ve done something you’ll really like,” he said to Hastur on one of his visits to Hell. “I organized things so that these rats would be spread all over Europe.”

“Rats? What good are they for?”

“Well you see, the rats have fleas.”

“Ah, itchy humans make angry humans.”

“Not just that, but the fleas carry a disease.”

“A disease?”

“A deadly one, yes. Not many will survive. Plenty of souls to corrupt. You should send out demons right away.” 

“Excellent work, Crowley. We can take it from here.”

That was how Crowley earned a little break from demonic work. Of course he hadn’t orchestrated the spread of a plague like that. It was way too direct for Crowley’s liking and the whole thing sounded rather miserable. People were dying left and right, huge swelling tumors or black spots covering their skin. Every night, bodies would be piled up to be dumped into mass graves. Family members - even children, were left to die alone, because no one could go near them without catching the plague and dying themselves. Usually within a week. Not a lot of time for a demon to work their wiles, but there were opportunities. Some of the humans holed up inside private homes together with none of the sick, trying to keep themselves safe (greed, sloth, pride - although they may have thought the plague was a punishment from above and were trying to live as piously as possible, it didn’t earn them many points to shut out the sick and not try to help them). Others went out and partied with wild abandon (lust, gluttony), as if they were trying to live as much as possible before the end. It was a demon’s dream come true. Just not Crowley’s. 

Crowley was trying to stay as far from the plague as possible, in any scrap of Europe he could find that hadn’t been hit yet, but he was quite desolate. It was cold. The seasons were still happening, but overall they were getting colder, and each winter was harder than the last. (Later, he would learn that this was a Little Ice Age.) The humans noticed the weather as well, as more crops died and more women were tried as witches responsible for everyone’s suffering. And everyone was sick, all the time. 

Crowley felt like crawling into a hole and disappearing. He tried it out, once, but found it was less desirable in practice. He decided to reach out with his network and look for Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was right in the midst of the plague, trying to help people by posing as a plague doctor. He couldn’t miraculously cure the humans (although he did cheat a little, for some of the children), but he could try to ease their suffering and at least make sure some of them didn’t need to die alone.

When Crowley heard that Aziraphale was right in the middle of the nightmare he was trying to avoid, he almost didn’t go. But he was so lonely. And honestly, kind of sad. He decided to go.

It was still the first half of the 14th century. Crowley could feel in his bones that the gradually cooling down of the seasons was just going to get worse. It was a particularly bad stretch of winter when he went looking for Aziraphale. His movements were getting more sluggish (he was somewhat cold-blooded, even in his human form) and he didn’t feel that the effort to go somewhere warm was worth it, if he even had enough energy to make it there. But somehow, he summed the energy to get to Aziraphale.

Crowley found Aziraphale sitting on the ground outside of a home, looking thoroughly worn down. He didn’t seem to hear Crowley approaching. Crowley stood a few feet away from him for several minutes, waiting to be noticed. “Angel,” he finally said. Aziraphale jumped slightly and looked up at him.

“Crowley?”

Crowley opened his mouth didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. After a long pause, he sat on the ground next to Aziraphale. They sat in silence for a few moments.

“Is it true that you orchestrated this?” Aziraphale asked finally.

“No.” said Crowley sharply. “Even _I_ wouldn’t want this. I did take credit though. Needed to get them off my back for a while.”

Aziraphale nodded. He hadn’t thought this particular demon was up for that sort of destruction. Another pause. Crowley could feel something building up in him, wanting to be released. He shoved it down.

“I heard you’ve been a plague doctor.”

“Yes. I can’t heal them - most of them, since I’m not really supposed to interfere in matters such as these. But I can at least make sure not all of them are alone, in the end.”

“Hmm,” said Crowley, in a way that said, I’m listening but I don’t have anything to say. Which was incredibly, terribly false. 

“What brings you here?” asked Aziraphale. “Tempting souls before they die?”

“Oh, you know,” said Crowley. “I’ve just been, around. Decided to check up on- on things.” 

“Well, here you are,” said Aziraphale. “Things aren’t great. Most people are dying. Everyone is dying. They’ve run out of space in the graveyards and are having to make mass graves, just, just layering people and dirt, every morning. Soon there won’t even be enough people to bury the dead.”

Crowley tried to respond, but nothing would come out. Or rather, something wanted to come out, but he knew once he started he wouldn’t be able to stop. There was another long silence. Usually Aziraphale would fill any silences they had, chatting about all the wonderful things that humans had done or that he had seen recently, but this time he just didn’t have anything to say. Or he was too worn down by the constant death and misery that surrounded him. Crowley could feel his temperature continuing to drop, and Aziraphale was _right there_, but still too far away for Crowley to suck up any of his warm body heat. He tried several times to say something, anything, to break the silence, but every time he tried to speak he could feel his eyes watering and his voice about to break and he just couldn’t make himself so vulnerable and open. But Aziraphale seemed lost in thought, oblivious to the demon beside him beginning to shiver slightly and struggle to say something. Crowley had to say _ something_.

“It’ss sso horrible,” Crowley burst out, shattering the silence. Aziraphale looked up sharply. He had never heard Crowley hiss like that before, not in his human shape. “Everything iss horrible,” Crowley continued. “And it’s sso cold, angel. It’ss ssso cold.” He stared at the ground, grateful for his sunglasses that were hiding his watering eyes. They were probably red around the edges now.

“…I suppose it is rather cold,” said Aziraphale slowly. “I’d ask you to a cup of tea, but everything’s closed now. This town’s almost gone.” He sounded bitter, almost like he blamed Crowley by association to the demons that had been jubilant about the plague.

Crowley could feel tears threatening to escape from his eyes. He didn’t know why this was happening. He’d never cried before, not even in Hell. He hadn’t thought that he could, with the snake eyes. It was just everything, all together, all at once. The cold and the misery and Aziraphale being so close and yet so far away, and Aziraphale sounding like he could possibly blame Crowley for this situation or think that Crowley was someone who would, who could possibly _want_ this. And he was so exhausted. 

Despite the shivering, every movement was getting harder, slower. It was starting to snow. As if the universe was laughing at him. Crowley’s breathing was slowing down. He didn’t really need to breathe, but still. The angel beside him remained silent, distant, ..cold. He blinked. The first tear began to spill over. Once it made it past the sunglasses, it would be visible. For the first time since the garden, Crowley felt himself change shape into a serpent. His eyes were open, of course, as a snake, but they were unseeing. He didn’t move. It was time to sleep.

—

“Oh dear,” said Aziraphale. Crowley had just turned into a snake, and didn’t seem to be responsive. This had never happened before. He wasn’t sure what to do. It seemed wrong to leave him in the grass like this, but it also seemed like an invasion of privacy to touch him while he was unconscious. Probably. It was hard to tell, since snakes didn’t close their eyes. But he should probably do something.

“Uh, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, pretty certain that he couldn’t hear him, “I’m going to pick you up now, and find some place warm for us.” Very carefully, he reached out and lightly touched the snake. It was very cold, and did not respond. “Alright,” said Aziraphale, trying to quell his anxiety. “It’s going to be fine.” Very slowly and gently, Aziraphale attempted to gather all of the rather long and heavy snake into his arms so that no coils would be dropped on the ground. Then he thought about where he could take him. He hadn’t been staying anywhere, just going from house to house to help people, and never really stopping to rest. After Aziraphale had been holding the snake for a couple minutes and some of his body heat had transferred over to Crowley, he nearly dropped the snake as it started to move. Crowley wound his way up Aziraphale’s arm and around his shoulders before going back to sleep. “Alright, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, “I suppose that makes this a little easier.” And he set off toward a home that he knew would be empty. It seemed wrong to take advantage of the home now, with all of its previous inhabitants deceased, but no one else would be needing it. Not anymore.

—

Aziraphale looked around the cottage. It smelled like death and was just as cold as it was outside. But there was a fireplace, so he lit a fire and found a blanket that seemed relatively clean and set it on the floor in front of the hearth. Then he moved to take the snake off his shoulders, but was unsuccessful. Even unconscious, Crowley was hanging on very tightly. Aziraphale sighed. “Alright then.” He decided to lie down, carefully, so that the part of him that Crowley was wrapped around would be on the blanket in front of the fire, and he waited for the snake to warm up and hopefully loosen its grip.

It took a solid hour before Aziraphale felt the coils around his shoulders and arms begin to loosen. Very carefully, he untangled himself and rearranged the snake comfortably in the blankets in front of the fire. Then he went back outside to look for other humans to help.

Several hours later, after the fire had gone out and the room had gotten colder, Crowley awoke. He smelled the stench of death and ashes and didn’t know where he was or why. In terror, he slithered away from the blanket and looked for somewhere to hide, or a way out of the cottage. He heard footsteps approaching and dove for a crack between the floorboards near the wall, changing size as he went to his smallest possible size (about six inches long). Heavy footsteps entered the room, and Crowley couldn’t see the intruder’s face from where he was hiding. There was a sigh, and the fire was relit. 

“Crowley?” said Aziraphale. “Are you here?”

With a wave of relief, Crowley slithered out from his hiding place, changing back to his regular size, and went directly to his angel’s leg, wrapping around and around the outside of his trousers as he made his way back up. To his surprise, Aziraphale made a hissing sound and lifted his leg, trying to shake him off. 

“No- get off, please- stop that!” said Aziraphale, stopping Crowley in his tracks. With a soft hiss of apology, Crowley slithered back down and transformed back into his humanoid form. “Honestly, Crowley. Boundaries.” 

“Ssorry. Wass cold,” Crowley said, looking at something in the floorboards. Cursing himself. He would never touch Aziraphale again. 

“About that,” said Aziraphale, still seeming uncomfortable and vaguely bristling. “Why did you come here, Crowley? Why didn’t you go to some part of the world where it’s warm? Like Ethiopia.”

“Well. I ssuppose I can leave. If you want.”

“Well, you can’t stay _here_,” said Aziraphale. Crowley felt something quite like a shattered mirror in his chest.

“Alright, then,” said Crowley, turning toward the door.

“I just meant- oh, Crowley.” 

“It’ss pretty clear what you meant, angel.”

Crowley was already out the door before Aziraphale said, softly, “I just want you to be safe, dear…” 

—

Crowley didn’t go to Ethiopia. Didn’t have it in him to travel that far. Instead, he found a nice, cold, rock. Not too far away from Aziraphale, because he didn’t get very far. He curled up under the rock, in his smallest snake form, and slept through the rest of the fourteenth century. Aziraphale never found him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be sure to let me know if you liked this :)


	3. after the 14th century

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley wakes up from sleeping through the 14th century

At the end of the fourteenth century, it started to get warmer, and Crowley awoke. The large stone was still above him. He slithered out and looked around at the completely deserted town. Buildings were falling apart; it was clear no one had been here in ages. He transformed back into human shape and started to walk out of town, somehow still too exhausted to miracle himself away from here.

Crowley walked for a long time and came across several more completely empty towns. He was vaguely aware that days were passing as he walked, but he was mostly lost in his thoughts. Aziraphale, telling him to leave, sending him out into the cold. Crowley, hiding under a rock only meters away, somehow hoping that- what had he been hoping? Ngh. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but the thought arose, unbidden, in his mind anyway. He’d wanted Aziraphale to find him, to take back what he said. To let him stay. If only they could have stayed together.

It began to rain. Crowley had been walking for so long, and he was utterly drained. But in the distance, he could see another town, so he kept walking. When Crowley got to the town, he felt a level of tension he’d been holding finally leave his body. This one had people in it.

Through the rain, Crowley walked into the village and into the building that seemed most likely to contain alcohol. Completely drenched and wearing clothes that had been materialized over 50 years ago and had not been kept up, he stood at the counter and asked for, “Whatever you think is drinkable.”

“Crowley?”

Crowley felt a flash of anger at the voice. Of course. Fancy running into Aziraphale here, now. He turned to give the angel a piece of his mind, but hesitated when he saw the look on Aziraphale’s face. What was that- worry? Concern?

“Crowley, are you alright? Where have you been?” Aziraphale stepped forward and put a hand on his arm. Crowley flinched backwards, nearly knocking over someone else’s drink on the bar. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Boundaries.”

“No it’s- it’s alright,” said Crowley, but Aziraphale had already stepped back to a respectable distance. Crowley sighed. 

“But do let me ask,” continued Aziraphale, “Are you alright? You’re soaking wet.”

“Yes,” said Crowley. “It’s raining.” He tried to miracle himself dry, but that ability seemed to still be asleep. That was the problem with sleeping for so long. 

Aziraphale miracled Crowley dry, and refrained from saying anything about his clothes. “Where have you been all this time? I tried to- I tried to follow up. See if you’d gone to Ethiopia.”

“Oh, no,” said Crowley. “I’ve been… here and there. You know. Around.” 

“Here, in Europe?”

“Um. Well…” 

“But I’ve been all over and hadn’t heard anything from you! What, were you living under a rock or something?”

“Hm. Yes.” 

“…Oh. Sleeping?”

Crowley suddenly became very interested in his drink. There was an awkward silence. 

“You know,” said Aziraphale. “I have a, I have a place around here. With better drinks.”

Crowley made a noncommittal noise.

Aziraphale took a breath. Steadied himself. “Would you like to come have a drink with me?”

Crowley almost smiled. Almost. “Sure, angel.” 

—

Aziraphale’s cottage was warm. The fireplace lit up the instant he stepped over the threshold. Crowley followed behind him, equal parts relieved and nervous. The last time they had been in a cottage such as this was not a great memory. 

The walls were lined with bookshelves, but in the center of the room there was an ornately carved bench with an excessive number of cushions on it, facing the fire. Aziraphale went to get drinks, then sat down at one end of the bench and looked up at Crowley, clearly inviting him to sit down. Crowley very carefully sat on the other end of the bench, as far from Aziraphale as possible, and accepted the drink Aziraphale held out to him. They drank together in silence for a while. Finally, Aziraphale spoke.

“Crowley, I wanted to apologize.” Crowley looked up at him in surprise. “When we last saw each other,” Aziraphale continued, “I was a bit. Unfriendly.” 

“Not at all,” said Crowley, as if nothing had occurred between them to set him off sulking and hibernating under a rock for fifty years.

“I want you to know that… Well, it’s not that I wanted you to leave. I just wanted you to be safe.”

“Safe from what? I can’t catch the plague.” 

“From- from the cold. From this miserable place. From sleeping for fifty years!” 

Crowley took a sip from his drink.

“I’m sorry for yelling,” said Aziraphale. “You just seemed so miserable, I was worried you.. wouldn't make it out of England.” 

“Hmm. Technically I didn’t,” Crowley smiled at Aziraphale. With the fire as the only light in the room, it was somewhat dim and Crowley’s pupils were dilated. His eyelids were also drooping over his eyes.

“Oh, Crowley,” said Aziraphale, half laughing. “How can you still be tired?”

“Didn’t sleep very well,” muttered Crowley, casually refilling his glass.

“Too cold and damp?” asked Aziraphale. “Or was it- I heard that humans, when they sleep, can have _nightmares_?”

Crowley drank in silence.

“Both, then,” said Aziraphale softly. “Well then, would you like to take a nap here? At least it’s warm and dry.”

“Wouldn’t want to be in your way,” said Crowley.

“Absolutely not,” said Aziraphale. “I will always have room for you.”

“And a bedroom? With an actual bed in it?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale hesitated.

“It’s alright, angel. I can find someplace to sleep.” 

“No!” said Aziraphale. Crowley raised an eyebrow at him. “I mean, I only mean that you don’t need to. Leave, that is. It’s absolutely no trouble to miracle up a bed. Or you can sleep right here.”

“Hmm.” Crowley considered. It was certainly warm and comfortable in the room, and the cushions he was sitting on weren’t half bad.

“You can nap here for a bit and then find a place once you’ve rested,” suggested Aziraphale, getting up and miracling a blanket.

“I suppose,” said Crowley. The cushions looked very inviting. He set his glass on the floor and lay down on the cushions, his eyes closing as he felt Aziraphale tuck in the miracled (very soft) blanket around him.

—

Crowley napped for six days, during which time Aziraphale carefully kept the fire going, left notes every time he left the cottage, and checked periodically (frequently) to make sure that Crowley was still alive. 

When Crowley finally woke up, he opened his eyes to see Aziraphale sitting on the floor with his back to the cushioned bench Crowley was lying on, deep in a book. Crowley lay there for a while, watching the angel read, before he sat up, pulling the blanket around himself like a cape.

Aziraphale turned around at the noise and beamed at Crowley. “Good morning!” he said. “Welcome back to the world.”

Crowley yawned. “How long was I out?”

“Six days, four hours, and twenty-three minutes,” replied Aziraphale, without even needing to glance at his watch. “I was beginning to think you might sleep another fifty years.”

“Hmm,” said Crowley, sliding off the bench onto the floor next to him. Not quite touching - a few inches apart. “If that happens again, you have my permission to wake me up.” 

“Alright,” said Aziraphale. “I will.” He glanced down at the few inches between them, then back at Crowley - who was staring directly into his eyes.

“Am I in your space?” asked Crowley.

“My space?” asked Aziraphale, thinking that technically, the whole cottage was his space.

“You know, your personal bubble. Of space. Around you. Boundaries.”

“Oh. No, dear. You’re fine. I’m happy to have you here.” Aziraphale tried and failed to imperceptibly slide a little closer to Crowley.

Crowley’s mouth twitched into an almost-smile, and he very gracefully slid the rest of the way to Aziraphale and leaned his head on the angel’s shoulder. “What about now?” he asked, trying and succeeding to seem more comfortable and confident than he felt.

“I think,” said Aziraphale, and he hesitated. Crowley lifted his head and started to move away. “No- I-” Aziraphale put his arm around Crowley, pulling him closer. “This is nice.” 

Crowley practically purred. After many, many years of trying to sleep away how touch starved he felt, he finally had the physical contact he had been craving. His head on the shoulder of his angel, wrapped in an arm, in front of a fire, as Aziraphale continued (or pretended) to read.

A few days later, Crowley received orders from Hell, and reluctantly departed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, please let me know if you liked this :)


	4. paris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna be honest, I really wanted to post this as soon as I finished reading it and did not proofread it. So I apologize for any typos!  
This one's a bit more different from canon than my previous flashbacks.

In the 1790s, Crowley was ordered to Paris to stir up political unrest and tempt the nobles. However, he found the nobles exceedingly annoying, so instead he spent his time attending the artistic and philosophical salons of Paris. He was particularly fond of several female playwrights, spending a lot of time with a woman named Olympe who was writing a play on the rights of women and was becoming increasingly passionate about politics and how slavery ought to be abolished. Crowley found that he agreed with her on most things, but ramped up his reports to Hell on how all of the temptation of the nobles was going so well. He couldn’t have them checking up on him and finding him in this company. He found that he was rather enjoying himself. So much so, that at first, he didn’t pick up on feelings of unease coming from not too far away.

Over the years since the 14th century, Crowley and Aziraphale had tried to stay a bit more in contact. They had the Arrangement, which helped. (Although Aziraphale had a good amount of anxiety about the arrangement, worrying that if Hell found out about Crowley’s involvement they would destroy him, whereas with Aziraphale the worst that could possibly happen is that he could Fall. Which was still undesirable, but at least he wouldn’t be _destroyed_, not completely. And it was far more likely that he would just be reprimanded.) They were also enjoying a slightly higher level of physical contact - a hand on an arm here, thighs touching as they sat together on a bench there - and Crowley had begun to be able to sense Aziraphale’s aura. He couldn’t see it, but he could sometimes feel strong emotions from the angel, even when they weren’t in the same place. 

One day in 1793, Crowley was in a tavern when he felt a strong flash of fear. The glass he’d been holding shattered. _Aziraphale?_ He was used to picking up occasional strong emotions when he was tuned into or feeling for Aziraphale’s aura (which was often - just good to check up on him, he thought), but usually the feelings were of contentment (maybe a good meal) or pride (a successful miracle, Crowley imagined). Never fear. 

Crowley ran out of the tavern, leaving behind a confused human he’d been busy tempting. He skidded to a stop on the street outside, looking around wildly for a way to get to Aziraphale. He could sometimes miracle short distances, but that might leave him unable to perform follow-up miracles, and he wasn’t exactly sure where Aziraphale was. Just the general direction. Crowley spotted a two-wheel carriage pulled by two horses down the street. The owners of said carriage had just gotten off and were about to unhitch their horses before going into a local shop, when suddenly they thought that the horses would be fine staying hitched to the carriage while they popped in for a moment. They didn’t even need to tie up the carriage. Crowley slid into the seat as the owners obliviously entered the shop, and he was off. 

Crowley hated horses, and horses hated him. Probably because horses hate snakes. The fastest way for him to get to Aziraphale might have been to just ride one of the horses at a gallop, but that required some constant miracle-working to keep the horse from throwing him off. This way, he could save more energy for anything Aziraphale might need, while still maintaining a pretty good speed. He did use a small miracle to encourage the horses to go much faster than they usually did while pulling a carriage. It helped that it was relatively light and there was only one person in it. Crowley had driven a carriage like this before, but not very many times, as he usually preferred to have someone else do the driving while he rode in a four-wheel suspended coach. Much more comfortable, although not as fast as he was going currently. And he was finding he preferred this speed.

The feeling of fear - panic? - became stronger. It was coming from the Bastille - the prison. Crowley leapt off the carriage while it was still in motion, and ran inside, pushing past several guards who tried to stop him but then found that they couldn’t remember what they were doing. He found a set of stairs that went down - below the Earth. There was a terrible smell - the smell of bodies and human suffering. But the feeling of panic was becoming stronger, and mingling with Crowley’s own emotions. He was panicking. 

“Aziraphale!” Crowley called, running down a dark and damp hallway lined by cells on either side. Some cells were crowded with humans, while others contained only one or two, and sometimes a bed. 

“Hey! You there!” a guard called, standing outside the cell that Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s aura pouring out of. In a moment of desperation, Crowley reached for the sky and stopped time. Then he ran forward, grabbed the key from the guard’s outstretched hand, and entered the cell.

Crowley’s pupils widened to take in an even darker room. He took his sunglasses off. It was just a stone room with a bucket but no furniture aside from the chains that had chained an angel to the wall. A very pale, sick-looking angel in tattered clothing. An angel that was not affected by the stopping of time, yet still didn’t seem to have noticed Crowley there.

Crowley crouched beside him. “Aziraphale?” he asked softly, placing a hand on his arm. Aziraphale flinched, and Crowley removed the hand.

Aziraphale looked up at him in wordless confusion. Waves of panic were still radiating from him.

“Angel,” said Crowley. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you miracle yourself out?” He vaguely became aware of the sound of a crowd and a guillotine outside, which he had somehow not noticed in his haste to get there.

Aziraphale looked down at his chains dully. He tried to speak, but no sound came out at first. As if he hadn’t spoken in a long time. He shook his head.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” said Crowley. Hell might be curious if they noticed this use of miracles, but Hell be damned. The shackles fell from Aziraphale’s arms and legs. He still didn’t move. “Alright, I’m not going to be able to keep time stopped much longer,” said Crowley. “I’m going to need to carry you.” He looked for any sort of response from Aziraphale, a nod or anything to show that he understood and that he consented, but there was nothing. Very slowly, Crowley put an arm behind the angel and another under his knees. At least Aziraphale didn’t flinch this time. Time was about to restart, and keeping it stopped had taken a lot out of Crowley. But he had to get Aziraphale out of here. He concentrated on a nearby inn and managed to miracle them to a room that had just become available, throwing in a change of clothes at the same time so that they arrived in regular peasant clothes that wouldn’t arouse suspicion. Ideally, no one would see them, but since Crowley was fast running out of energy it was best to be safe.

There was a single bed in the room, so Crowley set Aziraphale down on one side and went around to the other side to lie down himself. He was exhausted, but didn’t fall asleep. Instead, he watched Aziraphale lying there, breathing, staring up at the ceiling. He said nothing, and waited. 

Finally, after what felt like ages of silence, Aziraphale spoke. “I wanted crepes,” he said. Then he turned his head and made eye contact with Crowley.

“Crepes?” 

“You can’t get decent ones anywhere but Paris.” 

Crowley smiled a little. Aziraphale was sounding like his old self. “But why didn’t you miracle yourself out?”

Aziraphale sighed, looking back at the ceiling. “I was reprimanded. Too many frivolous miracles, they said. One year off from all miracles, they said. Thought it would do me good, I suppose. Like penance. Learn to live without having to miracle everything. Such an idiot. I should have just stayed in my bookshop.” 

“Or, you know, go to Paris in regular people clothes,” said Crowley, “and don’t look like an aristocrat.”

“Well it had only just started. I didn’t know it was going to get quite this bad. And I have standards.” Aziraphale glanced down at the state of his clothes. “Oh dear.”

Crowley considered the clothes as well. “Hang on. It had only just started? How long, exactly, were you there?”

“Well, just a little while,” said Aziraphale. “I was angry at Gabriel for the miracle business, and wanted crepes - thought it’d make me feel better, and I suspect my miracles will be returning by, say, tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? You- Angel- You were there for a _year_?”

“Well, it would have been fine, except apparently my execution day was set to be today, and it would have been fine if it’d been tomorrow. And I know being discorporated isn’t dying - I’ve been through it before, of course, but the guillotine just looked like such an awful way to go. Spending a year in a miserable prison cell was bad enough.”

Crowley stared at him for a moment, in silence. Finally, Aziraphale turned back to look at him. “…Yeah,” said Crowley. “Pretty awful. I think I’m done with France for a while.” Although he was thinking of hurting a few specific people before he left the area.

“I suppose I should thank you for the rescue.”

“No need.”

“What were you doing in the area?” asked Aziraphale. “I assume you aren’t responsible for this business with the guillotine.”

“No, not at all,” said Crowley. “Although I did take credit. The humans thought of it all on their own.”

“Ah,” said Aziraphale. “But you haven’t answered my question. How _did_ you know how to find me?”

Crowley didn’t answer at first, deliberating over how much to tell him. “Sometimes… Well, sometimes I just know where you are. Being my Adversary and all.”

“Oh, that would be a useful skill,” said Aziraphale. “Good for thwarting your evil wiles.”

“Yes,” said Crowley. “Also. I’m afraid I’ve used up all of my miracles for the time being. I’ll need to sleep to recharge. It would probably help you, as well.”

“Oh I’ve never tried it,” said Aziraphale. “Seems frightening, turning off your consciousness for a bit like that. Seems a bit… vulnerable.”

“Hmm, I suppose…” Crowley was already asleep, curled slightly on the bed, facing Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale sighed again. He still felt uneasy trying sleep for the first time in such an unguarded location as this room at the inn, with neither of them able to do a quick miracle, should they need one. He felt a strange urge to move closer to Crowley, and maybe run his fingers through that red hair. It was about chin length right now, so a decent length, although to be honest Aziraphale preferred it longer. He turned away from Crowley and looked back at the ceiling. Best to banish those thoughts. Regardless of what he felt - or didn’t feel - toward Crowley (friendship? companionship?), he knew that, according to the laws of reality, Crowley could never feel real love. He was a demon. It was best not to get too attached.

Still, he felt an indescribable feeling of happiness inside him a few hours later when Crowley rolled over in his sleep and nestled his head in Aziraphale’s shoulder. Softly, very softly, he touched Crowley’s hair. The demon may or may not have been asleep, but either way, there was a hint of a smile on his face. 

—

Crowley awoke several days later in his current London home, clutching a piece of paper. He unfurled his fingers and read the note:

_Miracles returned, didn’t want to wake you._  
_Thank you again for the rescue. Let’s go for crepes_  
_when the revolution is over._

_\- Aziraphale_

He stroked the note with his thumb, thinking about how Aziraphale had held this. He smelled it. It only smelled like paper. He dropped it to the ground in disappointment. But, reaching out with his mind, he could sense Aziraphale’s aura only a few blocks away, at his bookshop. He smiled, beginning to plot a reason to visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the feedback/kudos so far! It really motivates me to keep writing :) My goal is to finish the entire fic this week before I start (second) grad school on Monday.


	5. font of all blessings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the holy water, the church bombing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there was no update yesterday! I had grad school orientation and it was exhausting.  
This chapter will be from the perspective of Aziraphale. :)  
(no beta, no proofreading, apologies for any errors!)

The year was 1862. Aziraphale had invited Crowley to tea earlier, and they had decided to go for a walk in St. James’s park. He was watching Crowley toss bread to the ducks. Aziraphale was careful not to comment on this, but he always thought it was nice - clearly Crowley had a soft spot for the ducks. He looked good in his black coat and hat, his red curls spilling out just a little under the brim.

“I need a favor,” said Crowley.

“Yes?” said Aziraphale, when Crowley didn’t immediately continue. It was probably going to be some sort of temptation thing that Aziraphale was not going to enjoy. But he’d probably do it anyway, for this demon.

“I’ve been thinking. What if it all goes wrong?”

“The Arrangement?”

“I need insurance. In case the worst happens.”

“What?”

“I wrote it down.” Crowley handed a piece of paper to Aziraphale. The paper said: HOLY WATER.

“Out of the question.”

“Why not?”

“Crowley, it would _destroy_ you. Not just discorporate you. You’d be gone - erased from existence. I’m not going to give you a suicide pill.”

“That’s not what I want it for. Just… insurance.”

Aziraphale felt a ball of panic forming inside him. The idea of Crowley just, not existing anymore - it was - not something he could even think about. He couldn’t let Crowley get anywhere near that substance. 

“Do you know what trouble I’d get into if they knew I’d been fraternizing? It’s entirely out of the question.” Of course the trouble Aziraphale could potentially get into was nothing compared to losing Crowley, but he had to come up with some reason why he wouldn’t procure any holy water for him.

“_Fraternizing?_” asked Crowley.

“Whatever you wish to call it. There is no point to discussing this any further.”

“I have plenty of other people to _fraternize_ with,” said Crowley. “I don’t need you.”

The words hurt Aziraphale, but he pushed on. “The feeling is mutual.” He flicked the piece of paper into the pond, making it burst into flames, then walked off, leaving Crowley with the ducks.

They didn’t speak for another 79 years.

—

It was 1941. Aziraphale had been contacted by a member of the British Military Intelligence to help take down a circle of Nazi spies by luring them in with books of prophecy. He felt rather pleased with himself, really making a difference in the war. When he showed up at the church, however, he found out that he’d been double-crossed. And now he was going to be discorporated. The paperwork would be terrible, Gabriel would be irritated with him - maybe even angry, and it could take decades before he was issued a new body, assuming he was even re-assigned to the Earth, in which time his book shop might be destroyed or finally acquired by those men in suits, and the Nazis would have the prophecy books he’d brought them… And it was terrifying, dying, even if one wasn’t _really_ dying, not permanently. He imagined it would be painful to be shot. 

“Ow! Ow! Ow!” 

Aziraphale and the Nazi agents turned toward the noise.

“Sorry! Ow! Consecrated ground!” Somehow, some way, in Aziraphale’s moment of terror, here was Crowley. Probably to laugh at him. Maybe he was even responsible for this mess.

“Crowley! These people are working for you?”

“No! They’re just a bunch of Nazi spies and I didn’t want them to get to you!”

It’s a little late for that, thought Aziraphale. But he appreciated the gesture. After nearly eighty years of not speaking, he was worried they weren’t friends anymore. Regardless of what he said last time they spoke, the idea of not being friends anymore had made him very sad.

“The mysterious Anthony J. Crowley. Your fame precedes you,” said one of the Nazi spies. 

“Anthony?” asked Aziraphale.

“You don’t like it?” asked Crowley, appearing conflicted.

“No- no, I didn’t say that. I like it. What does the J stand for?”

“Just a J, really,” said Crowley, becoming distracted by the font of holy water. It made Aziraphale nervous to see him in such close proximity to it. 

“Enough babbling! Kill them both!” said the first Nazi spy. The other two lifted their weapons.

“You know,” said Crowley, “in about a minute, a German bomber will release a bomb that will land right here. If you all run away very fast, you might not die.”

“You expect us to believe that? The bombs tonight aren’t landing here.”

“It would take a last-minute demonic intervention to throw them off course, yes. _And_ it would take a real miracle for my friend and I to survive it.” 

Ah. Aziraphale thought he understood. He prepared to work a miracle.

“Kill them!” said the Nazi spy, and the one holding the other gun started to pull the trigger.

Then the bomb exploded.

When the dust began to settle, Aziraphale looked around for Crowley, suddenly worrying that the holy water from the font might have splashed him. He forgot to account for that. He breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted Crowley dusting off his sunglasses with a handkerchief. 

“That was very kind of you,” said Aziraphale, momentarily forgetting to avoid the K word.

“Shut up.”

Aziraphale tried to hide his smile. Then he remembered - “Oh no! The books! I forgot all about the books! They’ll all have been blown to-” 

And then Crowley was handing him the leather bag of books. “Little demonic miracle of my own. Lift home?” But Aziraphale barely heard him. His fingers brushed over Crowley’s as he took the bag and he could feel a spark between them. Crowley’s hand lingered on the handle for just one moment longer than necessary, their thumbs touching. Aziraphale was considering brushing his thumb over Crowley’s knuckles just as Crowley let go of the bag and stepped back. 

Slowly, Aziraphale became aware that he hadn’t responded to Crowley’s question, and the demon was standing there staring at him, the hint of a smile on his face. “You alright, Angel?”

_Angel_. Aziraphale had never really questioned that before. The obvious explanation was that of course, he was an angel. But he knew, deep inside, he always knew that when Crowley said angel, it was special. It was just for him. And now he was feeling a burning warmth inside in response to that word. He felt like something was awakening in him that he had never really been aware of before. He didn’t know how long it had been there before he noticed it. What was this feeling, this warm, bubbling feeling? Crowley was still watching him, waiting.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said. “Lift home, thank you.” 

Crowley drove to Aziraphale’s bookshop in silence, aside from occasionally tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. 

Aziraphale found himself just watching Crowley and smiling. With Crowley’s sunglasses on, he didn’t have great peripheral vision and would have had to actually turn his head to notice Aziraphale doing this. (Or at least, that’s what Aziraphale thought.) 

When they got to the book shop, Crowley stopped the car but still didn’t say anything. Aziraphale sat for a moment, not wanting to leave yet. “Well,” he said finally, “thank you again. For the rescue, and… for thinking of the books. It really means a lot to me.” He expected a sarcastic remark from Crowley, but what he received was quite genuine. 

“You’re welcome, angel,” said Crowley, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. Aziraphale wondered what was going on in his head. (He was trying very hard to control himself and not kiss Aziraphale.) 

“Do you want to come in for a drink?” asked Aziraphale.

Crowley didn’t answer for a moment, and Aziraphale was about to take it back, when he said, “Sure, angel.” Again with the angel. It should have felt repetitive by this point, but Aziraphale found that he still liked it. 

They got out of the car and went into the bookshop. Aziraphale produced some wine he had been saving for a special occasion. Crowley sprawled on one of Aziraphale’s tartan plush chairs. Aziraphale sat on the couch. He started babbling about what he’d been up to for the past eighty years. Crowley seemed content to just drink and listen. Slowly, they both became more and more drunk.

“But, enough ‘bout me,” said Aziraphale. “What ‘bout you, what’ve you been up to these past eighty years?”

“Ohh, y’know, things, this, that, sleeping…” 

“Croowley! Have you been _sleeping_ this whole time?”

“Mayhaps,” said Crowley, holding his glass above his head to look up through it. Some of the drink spilled out onto his shirt. “Sleepings’upposed to be good for you,” he added.

Aziraphale felt that Crowley was too far away. And maybe also adorable. But that could be the drink talking. 

“Crowley I want to tell you,” started Aziraphale. It was hard to follow his own train of thought in this state, but he felt that if I didn’t say it now, he never would. “I was very sad.”

“Sad? My angel?” Crowley didn’t appear to notice what he said.

Aziraphale nodded. “I thought maybe… that maybe we’d never be friends again.”

“Oh… Angel… I would never…” Crowley took off his sunglasses and Aziraphale was shocked to see that his eyes were glistening. He’d always believed that it was impossible for demons to cry - and especially impossible for a snake. But maybe he’d been wrong. Seeing the look on Aziraphale’s face, however, Crowley put his sunglasses back on. “I should sober up,” he said.

Aziraphale tried to say ‘No, wait,’ but the words died before they reached his lips. Seeing Crowley sober up, he decided he should sober up the rest of the way as well.

“Well,” said Crowley. 

“Yes?”

“This has been… a nice time. Thank you.”

“You’re always welcome.” Aziraphale wished he knew a way to ask Crowley to stay. Just a little longer.

“I’d better be going,” said Crowley. He hesitated, as if he was waiting for Aziraphale to say something, but Aziraphale couldn’t make himself say the words. 

“Goodnight, angel,” said Crowley, and he was out the door before Aziraphale’s soft reply.

“Goodnight, dear.”

—

In 1967, Aziraphale heard that Crowley was putting together an operation to acquire some holy water. Terrified that something could happen to him, Aziraphale waited for Crowley in his car with a tartan thermos.

Crowley doesn’t see him at first when he gets into the car, then he does a double take. “What are you doing here?”

“Needed a word with you.”

“What?”

“Crowley, I know you’re planning to rob a church, but holy water wouldn’t just kill your body. It would destroy you completely.”

“You’ve already made your stance on the matter clear. A hundred and five years ago.”

“And I haven’t changed my mind. But I can’t let you risk your life for this. So you can call off the robbery.” He handed the thermos to Crowley. “Don’t go unscrewing the top.”

“It’s the real thing? After everything you said?”

Aziraphale nodded, feeling vaguely sick to his stomach to have given Crowley a substance that could take him away forever. 

“Can I drop you anywhere?”

Aziraphale opened the door. He hesitated. As much as he wanted to spend more time with Crowley, he knew that the feelings inside him were dangerous to both of them. “No, thank you,” he said. He felt a pang as Crowley looked vaguely crushed. He took a breath. “But maybe one day we could have a picnic? Or dine at the Ritz.”

Crowley looked up at him again. “I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go.”

Aziraphale smiled slightly. He very much, _desperately_ wanted to take Crowley up on the offer, wanted to spend time with him, be the best of friends, but he had to maintain enough space to keep them safe. He didn’t want to hurt Crowley and say they weren’t friends - he could never say that again. But he had to come up with something, some reason to decline. “You go too fast for me, Crowley.” Of course he meant that Crowley drove too fast, even though he had ridden in the car with him anyway, many times before.

But what Crowley heard was, you move too fast for me, you ask too much of me, I may never be what you want me to be, but with your current behavior you might push me away. Barely functioning through a tidal wave of regret, he drove away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, please comment if you liked this! I have just a few days left to finish this up before I start school. Up next is the Fire In The Bookshop and more pining. But soon, fluff!


	6. the fire, and after

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bonus chapter to make up for missing one yesterday! :) :) :)  
get ready for feels

It was Saturday, the last day of the world.

_I’m going home, angel. I’m getting my stuff. And I’m leaving. And when I’m off in the stars, I, I won’t even think about you!_

The words he had said when he last saw Aziraphale ran through Crowley’s mind as he dove the Bentley recklessly toward the bookshop. He was trying to figure out what he could possibly say to Aziraphale to apologize and figure out what to do next - when he saw the fire trucks. _Please no. Please don’t let it be his shop._

_No, no, no no no no no no no-_

Crowley stopped the Bentley in the middle of the street and ran inside, pushing past the firefighters who were trying to block him. He didn’t hear anything they said to him.

“Aziraphale? Aziraphale! Where are you!” he screamed at the burning shop, his throat burning. “You idiot! Aziraphale!” Suddenly, water from a fire hose coming in through the window knocked Crowley to the ground, his sunglasses tumbling off as well.

“Aziraphale…?” Crowley said, panic overwhelming him. His eyes watered and tears began to stream down his face - the first time he had cried in hundreds of years. He picked up is sunglasses, but they were melted. His clothes were burned and ripped. “Aziraphale…”

He sat in the burning (and also wet) room for a long minute. “I’m done,” he said finally, to no one. “I’ve had it. I hate you all. Somebody killed my best friend! I hate you all!” He moved to stand up, and noticed a burned book lying near him. It was that book that the girl with the bicycle had left in his car. He picked it up and held it close. He could smell, even through the smoke, that Aziraphale had held this book. He pressed his lips to it and closed his eyes. Something to remember him by. As if everything else he had ever owned wasn’t associated with Aziraphale. As if he _could_ forget. 

He stayed there for a long time, but eventually he left. He knew Aziraphale wouldn’t want him to be hurt, and he couldn’t bear the thought of doing one more thing that would have hurt Aziraphale. 

He had nowhere to go. No reason, really, to be alive, except for Aziraphale. In his memory. But the world was ending anyway, so at least he wouldn’t have to stay alive for much longer. At least, not in this capacity. There would be a world of pain waiting for him, afterwords. But he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Not anymore. Not with nothing left to lose.

Somehow, with no memory of how he got there, he was in a bar. He was drinking as much alcohol as he could. Anything to numb this. 

He saw Aziraphale’s face floating in front of him. Not real, of course, but he desperately wanted it to be.

Except. Could it be? He tried to smash down the inkling of hope, but it rose up again anyway.

“Aziraphale? Are you here?”

“Good question. Not certain. Never done this before. Can you hear me?”

“Of course I can hear you.”

“Afraid I rather made a mess of things… did you go to Alpha Centauri?”

“No. I changed my mind. Stuff happened. I lost my best friend,” Crowley’s voice cracked and his face scrunched up a bit, trying not to visibly cry. Although he’d replaced his sunglasses, so at least his red and watering eyes were hidden. He’d cried a lot over the past hour and had only just stopped before Aziraphale appeared.

“I’m so sorry to hear it. Listen. Back in my bookshop…” Crowley barely listened to the rest of what Aziraphale had said, so thrown by the casual reaction to him sharing his deepest (well, almost deepest) feelings. Could he really not know what Crowley meant? Did he just not care? He listened just enough to respond to Aziraphale’s questions and look at the book and prepare to meet him. Meet him. They would be reunited. He tried to smother the spark of hope he felt, and failed.

—

After Armagedidn’t 

Crowley waited until after the whole switching of bodies thing to bring it up. He wanted to wait until they were safe. Really, he wanted to let the whole thing go and just go back to being friends again. But it was nagging at him. All the time. He was anxious and distant from Aziraphale. He needed to talk about this. 

He waited until one night, after they had dined at the Ritz and gone over to the bookshop to get drunk, and just as they approached the time of the night where they usually sobered up and Crowley would go home. He could see that Aziraphale was getting ready to sober up, and he felt a wave of panic that another day was going to go by without him having the courage to address this.

“Angel,” he started. Aziraphale smiled. He always smiled when Crowley called him that.

“Yes, dear?” Aziraphale was leaning diagonally on the couch and slowly slipping lower. Crowley was in his usual seat, but his legs were pulled up closer today instead of sprawled out how he usually sat.

“Do you remember… Do you remember when you were discorporated? And your bookshop burnt down.”

“Oh yes. I nearly forgot - never saw it burned down myself.”

“But when we talked, and I said I… I said I lost my…” Why were the words so hard to get out?

“I don’t… quite remember,” said Aziraphale.

“My best friend,” Crowley finished.

“Oh! Oh G- heavens, Crowley. I’m so sorry. Your best friend? Who…?” 

Crowley glared at him. “Well, seeing as I only have the one friend…” 

“…Oh. Well, you didn’t lose me. I’m right here, lo- Crowley. Dear. I should sober up.”

“Wait!” said Crowley. “Wait I… Can’t do this. Sober. I need to say it now.” 

“Okay. I’m listening.”

“Thank you. Angel. You weren’t there. When it burned. It was… I thought you were dead. I thought you dead and never coming back and someone killed you and I was ready to destroy the whole world but at the same time I was so afraid, and- and- Angel I thought you were _gone_.” Crowley was still wearing the sunglasses, but he felt a tear escape and run down his face. He didn’t acknowledge it and hoped that Aziraphale wouldn’t see it. 

“Wait, you thought I was dead? Like forever dead?” 

“Y-yeah,” Crowley’s voice broke. “I thought you were gone forever and I had no- no reason to be alive, but- oh, don’t look at me like that. I wasn’t going to _do_ anything. I knew how you’d feel about that, dead or not. But it’s just that, now, even though it seems like we’re safe, for now, every time I go home and I can’t see where you are anymore or I call you and you don’t answer or we go somewhere and I turn around and I don’t know where you are, I just-” he broke off and took a shaky breath. More tears were falling down his face now. “And I’m not sleeping, I haven’t slept in weeks because I can’t-” his voice broke off again and he found that he couldn’t talk.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale leapt off the couch and crouched by Crowley’s side, looking up at him. Crowley had buried his face in his hands, tears still streaming out. “Crowley, can I…?” Aziraphale offered his hands, to hug him maybe, he hadn’t really decided. But Crowley pushed himself off the chair and onto the floor, burying his face in Aziraphale’s shirt and wrapping his arms around him, grabbing the back of his shirt (below where the wings attached - he was still being careful). And he shook, crying silently. Aziraphale’s eyes began to prickle with tears as well. “I’m here, Crowley,” he said. “I’m here, and I’m not going away.” Very gently and softly, as if he didn’t want Crowley to know, he kissed the top of Crowley’s head. But Crowley noticed. He held on tighter. 

They stayed like that for a while, until Crowley was calm.

Finally, Crowley pulled away. “I suppose I should sober up now,” he said.

“Yes,” said Aziraphale. “Best not to get a hangover.” 

They sat in silence, a few inches apart on the floor. Surrounded by comfortable couches they could have been sitting on. Neither of them particularly wanted to move to a couch, since that would put them further away from the other.

“Right,” said Crowley. “I suppose…”

“Do you want to stay here? You could sleep on the couch while I read. And then if you wake up, I’ll be right here where you can see me.”

Crowley smiled. “That would be nice.” 

It was the first time Crowley had slept weeks. He had pleasant dreams at first, dreams of being held by Aziraphale, being wrapped in his wings, even having his own wings touched by another being for the first time in millennia, but then his dreams turned dark. He dreamed that he was alone.

Crowley woke up with a gasp, sitting up before he registered where he was. Aziraphale’s book shop. Safe. Except he didn’t feel safe - something was missing.

He couldn’t feel Aziraphale’s aura. 

“Aziraphale!?” Crowley called, getting up and looking around the shop. Would he have stepped out for a moment? Maybe he went to get some food?

But then Crowley saw the puddle of tea and broken fragments of a teacup on the ground.

Someone had taken Aziraphale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would be a shame if something happened to Aziraphale, wouldn't it


	7. a room without time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter inspired by [this fanfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18043838/chapters/42641036) by [Handful_of_Silence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Handful_of_Silence/pseuds/Handful_of_Silence)
> 
> TW for: (mostly unintentional) self-harm   
Did not proofread, no beta, apologies for any errors!

Crowley would like to think that he stayed calm, that he was rational. The truth is, he had a rather nasty panic attack for a solid 40 minutes before he was able to do anything to find Aziraphale. 

Finally, finally, cursing himself for taking so long, he reached out with his mind to sense Aziraphale’s aura. He didn’t sense it. Either he wasn’t very good at this, or Aziraphale wasn’t on Earth. So then, which side would have taken him? Heaven had already tried hellish fire. Crowley decided to try Hell first.

He went in the main entrance. Through the crowded hallways, the other demons pressed away from him, giving him space. They were afraid of him, he realized. Good. He went straight to Beelzebub. They looked somewhat uncomfortable to see Crowley there, looking him up and down as if they were trying to see if he had a flask of holy water somewhere. Then they tried to appear calm and disinterested.

“Croowley,” Beelzebub stretched out his name. “To what do I owe this displeasure?”

“Do you have the angel,” Crowley said, phrasing it more as a statement than as a question.

“The angel Aziraphale?”

“Obviously.”

Beelzebub looked down at the paperwork on their desk, as if they didn’t already know the answer to the question. After flipping through a few pieces, they looked back up. “Records indicate no. Aziraphale hasn’t fallen.”

“Well, I bloody well _know_ he hasn’t fallen, but someone’s taken him.” If Aziraphale had fallen, there’d be a burning circle in the floor of his bookshop. 

“Ah,” said Beelzebub, trying to both look like they cared and were disinterested at the same time.

“I swear, if you, or that asshole Gabriel have him, I’m - I’m going to kill whoever took him.” The room got a little darker as Crowley glowered.

Beelzebub did look up with what might have been a hint of fear when Crowley said Gabriel’s name.

Crowley turned around and stalked out of the room. After he had left, Beelzebub closed the doors to their office and placed a phone call.

—

Aziraphale had, indeed, been taken to Heaven mid-cup of tea. He had been taken to a blindingly white room, where he was seated in a chair and could not move. “Hello?” he called. “Excuse me, but you can’t just lock an angel in a room like this!”

It felt like ages before Gabriel entered the room.

“Aziraphale,” he said.

“Gabriel,” said Aziraphale. “Why am I here? You could have just sent a note. And also, why can’t I move!? This is highly unnecessary.” 

“Aziraphale, I brought you here because I care about you. I know, I know, I did try to have you executed when we last met. But clearly, since you survived that ordeal, you must still be part of Her plan.” His violet eyes felt more piercing than usual.

“How on Ea-Heaven is-is- restraining me to a chair something you do to someone you care about!?” It might have been different if he’d been tied to the chair with actual rope so that he could wiggle around, but like this, his muscles wouldn’t respond at all. Only his head could move.

“Well you see, you can be quite dangerous and I wanted to make sure you would sit and listen to me.” 

“Fine. Say what you have to say.”

“Okay. Well, this is something you should know already, but I think maybe you’ve been deceived. It’s very important for you to know that demons aren’t capable of love.”

“What? Is this about Crowley?”

“Yes. It’s clear that you have feelings for him.”

“Oh.” He thought he’d been doing a pretty good job of hiding that so far. It must have been letting Crowley spend the night. He cursed himself. He shouldn’t have been so careless.

“So you do know that it is impossible for the demon Crowley to love you, correct?”

“Honestly, I think you’re mistaken there,” said Aziraphale, wishing very much that he could itch a spot on his knee. 

Gabriel sighed. “I was afraid of this. He’s gotten into your head. He can pretend to love you, of course, get favors from you, deceive you, but he isn’t capable of Real Love. I want you to think about what it means for demons to fall from Grace, and how Grace is necessary for Real Love. If an angel falls, they no longer have Grace, and they cannot truly love someone.” He got up to leave the room.

“Wait!” said Aziraphale. “You’re really going to leave me attached to this chair like this? I can’t even scratch at an itch!” 

Gabriel turned and considered him. He did a small miracle, and suddenly Aziraphale could move, but was confined to a very small circle of space around the chair. 

“How long are you going to leave me in here!?” asked Aziraphale. 

“Until you learn,” said Gabriel. “Time passes differently here, and I can leave you here as long as you need. Think about what I said.” Then he left, turning out the light behind him.

It was dark. It was _so_ dark. And quiet. Aziraphale could move now, but he couldn’t access his miracles. He sat and waited. Crowley would come looking for him, he knew.

After what felt like a day had passed, he started to reach out and explore the circle he was enclosed in. It didn’t budge. He called out, he yelled - his voice didn’t even echo back to him. 

Another day passed. Aziraphale paced back in forth in the two and a half foot (0.762 meter) diameter circle, clawing at his arms, trying to feel something. To be something. It was always dark. Everything was black. There were no sounds. Crowley had not come for him. No one answered his yelling and- eventually, screaming. He screamed until his throat was raw, not able to bear the unending silence. 

More days passed. He couldn’t will himself to sleep. He hadn’t ever done it before, so he wasn’t sure if he just couldn’t figure it out or if he couldn’t do it in this space. Was he going to be here forever? Just forgotten, abandoned, in the dark? It was unbearable. Maybe Gabriel had been right. Maybe Crowley was never going to come for him.

Aziraphale started to have waves of panic where he couldn’t control his body. His wings thrust out into this plane against his will, and were immediately crushed by the small circle he was contained in. He cried out, but his voice was so hoarse it barely made a sound. He crumpled to the ground, shaking, and making small whimpering noises. When would it end?

So much time passed with Aziraphale not moving. Weeks or months, he wasn’t sure anymore. He tried to live in his memories, since he couldn’t sleep. It was almost like dreaming. Except all of his memories were of Crowley. Crowley, who didn’t love him. Was incapable of loving him. Crowley, who was the reason he was in this mess. There was so much pain from his broken wings, he couldn’t remember what it felt like to not be in pain. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. This pain was forever. It was what he deserved, after falling in love with a demon.

And then there was light. “Alright, I hope you’ve had time to think- Geez, Aziraphale. What a mess.” Suddenly, the circle expanded and Aziraphale let out a whimper as his broken wings stretched out.

“Wow, this room really does work. I was only gone for a minute on my end. Anyway, my- a demon from downstairs phoned up that Crowley’s coming here, which seems like a good time to prove to you that he can’t love you.

Crowley. Crowley was coming here? And it had only been a minute on the outside world? Was it over?

“Of course maybe by now you understand that demons aren’t capable of love. Did you think about what I said?”

Aziraphale didn’t respond. Gabriel walked up and lightly kicked the edge of one of his broken wings. “Hello?” said Gabriel. “You there? Gonna tell me you understand now that Crowley doesn’t love you?”

“If he doesn’t love me,” Aziraphale croaked out. “Then why is he coming here?” 

Gabriel paused. “You know, that hadn’t actually occurred to me. I suppose he’s keeping up appearances so that he can still get whatever special benefits he gets from having an angel on his side. I’ll tell you what. I’ll come up with a, a sort of game, to prove whether he loves you or not. Sound good? Now, I’m going to give you your healing abilities back so you can pull yourself together. And I’ll come get you when we’re ready.”

“Please don’t-” 

“Don’t worry, I’ll slow down the time passage a bit. Shouldn’t take too long.”

It still took a long time. Aziraphale waited for what felt like a week, wings healed, and ready. Preparing. Of course Crowley loved him. Still, there was a nagging doubt in the back of his mind. There was a bit of sense to what Gabriel had said. Lose Grace, lose Real Love. But maybe… Maybe superficial love was enough for Aziraphale? 

—

Crowley left Hell through the main entrance again so that he could easily get to the front entrance to Heaven. Stepping onto the escalator, he feared that he might discorporate if he entered Heaven. Or that he’d never be able to leave. Or that they’d try the holy water on him again, just to be sure. But really, existing wasn’t worth it if Aziraphale wasn’t with him. 

The guards at the front of Heaven were surprised to see him, but he didn’t discorporate. It had been a long time since he’d last been in Heaven, and it was all redecorated and reorganized. Crowley had to ask for directions. When he reached Gabriel’s office, Gabriel was waiting for him.

“Thought you might turn up,” said Gabriel.

“Where’s Aziraphale?” Crowley asked, deadly quiet. 

“He’s on hand. He’s fine. Beelzebub called to warn me you were on your way to kill me,” he chuckled. “But really, I’ve just been having a chat with the angel. And we’ve come to an agreement. Come see what we’ve got set up - I think you’re going to like this. Kind of demonic, actually.” He got up and walked out of the room. Crowley followed, trying to prepare for anything. 

Gabriel stopped by a white door set almost flush against a wall, and opened it. “Aziraphale,” he said in an almost sing-songy tone of voice. “Come on out.”

Crowley anxiously watched Aziraphale come out of the room. He looked alright, physically, but there was something haunted in his eyes. He barely made eye contact with Crowley, then looked at the ground. What had they done to him.

“Alright, this way,” said Gabriel, and he led them to a room with several other angels and a demon Crowley didn’t recognize. The demon looked terrified. In the center of the room there was a bathtub of water - presumably holy water, and beside it a pillar of the Fires of Hell.

“So here’s the deal. We’ve decided to be very generous and let one of you live,” said Gabriel. “I know you’ve gotten out of this before, but I suspect one of these will kill you, and you know which one it is. And only one of you has to die, because we think the next Armageddon will be fine so long as there’s only one of you. We’ll even let you pick. So who will it be?” 

Crowley had started walking forward before Gabriel even finished speaking. He turned back, at the edge of the bathtub, took off his sunglasses, and tried to make eye contact with Aziraphale, who looked terrified and like he was rooted to the spot more by terror than by choice. It was probably better that way. “I love you, Angel,” he said, then stepped into the bath.

It didn’t burn. Hmm. Crowley got out of the bath and walked toward the flame. 

The flame wasn’t even Hell Fire. Crowley turned back and looked at Gabriel in confusion.

Gabriel looked like someone had just ripped the fabric of space and time out from underneath him. “Impossible,” he said. 

“Well it’s not, you know, this isn’t Holy Water and that’s not the Fire of Hell,” said Crowley.

“No, I…” Gabriel wasn’t looking at them. He seemed lost in thought. “Could I have been wrong?”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale.

“Oh,” said Gabriel. “Crowley, what in Heaven’s name _are_ you?”

“I’m a demon, obviously.”

“But demons aren’t capable of Real Love. You have to be something else. Something in between?”

Crowley stared at him for a moment, then laughed out loud. “You thought demons weren’t capable of love? Tell that to Beelzebub. Who apparently warned you I was coming. I should have expected that. Come on, Aziraphale. We’re going.”

“I- I have to go-” said Gabriel, suddenly fleeing Heaven to try to right a wrong from 6,000 years ago.

None of the angels or the demon tried to stop Crowley as he approached Aziraphale. “Angel?” said Crowley, reaching for his shoulder. Aziraphale fell into Crowley’s arms, holding him so tightly he could barely breathe and smashing his face into Crowley’s shirt. 

“Get me out of here,” Aziraphale said into Crowley’s shirt.

Without a word, Crowley snapped his fingers and they back in the bookshop. He hastily got rid of the broken tea cup and the stain from the tea as well. Aziraphale had only been gone for an hour or two at most, but it seemed like he’d been through something much worse. Crowley led Aziraphale to the couch and sat beside him. There were tears streaming down his face.

“Angel,” Crowley whispered, reaching up to wipe the tears away, although they were immediately replaced by more. He’d said it already, so might as well say it again. “I love you.”

Aziraphale was still shaking, and didn’t respond.

“I’m here, you’re here, you’re safe,” said Crowley. “And I’m here for you whenever you- for whatever you need.”

Aziraphale nodded, then rested his head on Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley wrapped his arms around Aziraphale and miracled a tartan blanket around them. Soon, they would need to talk about this. But for now, it was enough to just Be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in the next chapter there will be WINGS  
please let me know if you liked this!


	8. after

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a whole bunch of fluff
> 
> TW for, uh, realigning bones/joints

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last chapter of this particular fic, but if you like this, I might write more! :)

Aziraphale and Crowley sat together on the couch in silence for hours, Aziraphale resting his head on Crowley’s shoulder and Crowley occasionally running a hand through Aziraphale’s hair. 

When Aziraphale finally spoke, it was so quietly that Crowley almost didn’t hear him. “Do you really love me?” he asked.

Well, since it was out in the open now, Crowley kissed the top of Aziraphale’s head. “Yes, angel. Always and forever.” 

“I love you, too.” 

Crowley gasped softly. 

“I have, for a while,” Aziraphale continued, sitting up straighter so he could look Crowley in the eyes. He reached out and put his hand on Crowley’s sunglasses to remove them. “Is this okay?”

Crowley hesitated for a moment, then nodded. Aziraphale removed the sunglasses. Setting them down on the coffee table, he ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair. He’d always wanted to do that (especially when Crowley’s hair was on the longer side) and since he’d felt Crowley running his fingers through his hair, he figured this was fair game. 

“How… since when? Have you, I mean,” said Crowley.

“Since you saved me from the church bombing, I think.”

“Angel!” Crowley sat up straighter. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I- well, I wasn’t sure if you- how long have you…?”

“When did we meet?”

“…you…” 

“Six thousand years.” 

“Six… thousand…” 

“Six thousand years pining after you, yes,” said Crowley. He reached out to gently touch the side of Aziraphale’s face. His beautiful, beautiful face. It didn’t feel real that his angel could love him back, that after so many years, his feelings would be reciprocated. 

“I would, if you’re okay with it, very much like to-” Aziraphale started.

“Yes?”

“To kiss you,” Aziraphale’s entire face turned red. “I’ve always wanted to- to try it-” he was interrupted by Crowley kissing him.

It was gentle at first - neither of them had actually kissed someone before, although both of them thought that maybe the other had. Neither of them were experienced to know if the other was experienced or not. Aziraphale leaned into it a bit, and Crowley subconsciously grabbed the front of Aziraphale’s coat and pulled him closer - but Aziraphale broke off suddenly with a wince of pain. Crowley let go immediately. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Well, it’s my-” Aziraphale started, then stopped. He couldn’t explain what had happened to his wings without revisiting the traumatic ordeal he had just been through, that he was trying very hard to forget. 

Crowley watched a shadow of darkness pass over Aziraphale’s facial expression. “You can tell me anything,” he said, “and take all the time you need. No rush at all.”

Aziraphale nodded. His eyes watered. “So, um, as it turns out, Gabriel has a room in Heaven where time can be… manipulated.”

Crowley listened, not yet comprehending what Aziraphale was saying.

“So I was in this room, instructed to think about-” he laughed, a harsh, choked sound, “about how you couldn’t possibly love me.”

Crowley growled unintentionally. Aziraphale patted him on the shoulder.

“For Gabriel, I was only there for a few minutes, but for me, it was… I think it was months, Crowley. Or maybe even a year.”

Crowley’s mouth slowly fell open as he began to realize the magnitude of what Aziraphale was saying.

“I had a- a chair, and a small circle of movement, no miracles, no light, no sound. I think I was starting to go mad. And then, by accident, my- my wings came out, but there- there wasn’t enough room,” he voice broke. He pushed through, knowing that if he didn’t say all of this now, he might never say it. And he needed to. “And I couldn’t pull them back in, so I just. Had to wait like that. Which was terrible. And then Gabriel came back and let me heal them but I really didn’t have enough space to do it properly, and I’m just… They’re a bit sore, you know? I’m worried I didn’t do it right.”

“Oh, Angel,” said Crowley, trying to push down the sudden urge to find Gabriel and kill him in as many painful ways as possible. 

“Please don’t retaliate,” said Aziraphale. “I really, really, think maybe this time they’ll actually leave us alone and I don’t want to antagonize them.” He shivered. 

“I swear I’m never letting you out of my sight again,” said Crowley. It was a bit extreme, but Aziraphale felt a flash of happiness anyway. “Do you want me to…” Crowley had only seen Aziraphale’s wings a couple times in their entire existence. Wings had become a somewhat private matter ever since the Garden of Eden. He groomed his own wings extensively, although there were a few spots that were hard to reach and he’d sometimes wished he could have had help with it. And he was more flexible than most demons or angels. He wondered how Aziraphale did it.

“Would you please? I’m so sorry that my wings are sort of a mess, but if you could just check the bone structure…”

“Of course,” said Crowley.

Aziraphale moved to sit on the floor, removed his shirt, and very slowly unfurled his wings, grimacing as he did so. “How bad is it?”

Well for one, Aziraphale’s feathers were a disaster. There were at least one or two molts still clinging on. “Well, the bone structure is close to correct,” said Crowley. Sort of. If you had a good imagination.

Aziraphale sighed. “It hurts. I think you’ll need to rebreak them to set them correctly.”

“Oh.” 

“I understand if you’re not comfortable doing this; I can deal with it,” said Aziraphale, starting to fold up his wings.

“No-No, let me,” said Crowley. 

Aziraphale nodded and stretched his wings back out. He was shaking.

Crowley was also shaking, a little bit. “Okay, I’m going to just touch you first so you get used to my hands.” He put a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder and rubbed it, then moved his hand down between the two wings. Aziraphale shuddered, but said nothing. Somehow, the very first joint on his right wing had been messed up. Crowley tried to stay calm and relaxed as he mentally prepared to fix a joint in one of the most sensitive areas on an Angel. It was extremely, incredibly intimate to be touching him here, but it wouldn’t compare to what was going to come next. “Alright, I think this is just a sprain here,” Crowley lied. “You’ll want to relax your right wing so the weight is mostly on the ground.” Once Aziraphale adjusted, Crowley continued. “Okay, it will just pinch a little bit. Try to relax.” He focused as much energy as possible on numbing the entire area, then pulled the joint apart and put it back together correctly in one fluid motion. Very slowly, he eased up on the numbing. “Does that feel okay?”

Aziraphale nodded without making a sound. Crowley leaned over his wing to try to see his face. His eyes were screwed up tight and there was a tear falling down his face. He was shaking violently.

“It’s okay, angel,” said Crowley, rubbing both of his shoulders but staying away from the wings for now. “I did the worst bit first. You let me know when you need a break, okay?”

“Just get it over with,” Aziraphale choked out. “Please.”

Crowley felt like Aziraphale’s voice cut through his soul. “Okay.” He moved his hands back down the right wing, being very gentle over the base, but Aziraphale shuddered again anyway. It was going to be hard to work on his wings with him shaking this badly. He got up and walked around to the other side of Aziraphale, taking his face in his hands. Aziraphale opened his eyes in surprise. “Angel,” said Crowley. “Do you trust me?”

Aziraphale nodded. There were more tears.

Crowley brushed the tears away. “I need to hear you say it.”

“I trust you,” said Aziraphale. The shaking subsided a little.

“Good,” said Crowley. “I trust you, too. I’m going to be as gentle as possible, okay? But I need you to breathe. Deep breaths.”

They didn’t need to breathe, but it could still have a calming effect on them. Aziraphale’s shaking went down to barely a tremor as he focused on his breathing.

“Good,” said Crowley again. “Just focus on your breathing for me.” He kissed his forehead softly, then went back around to work on the wings.

It was a very slow, painful process as Crowley fixed one spot at a time, interspersed with running his hands along Aziraphale’s shoulders and back and sides, reminding him to breathe so that the shaking wouldn’t become too intense for Crowley to work.

Finally, the wings were fixed. At least, the bone structure. There was some residual soreness, but it was still a huge improvement. 

“Alright angel,” said Crowley. “Do you need a break before I groom them?”

“…Groom them?” asked Aziraphale, looking around his shoulder at Crowley.

“I mean, only if you want me to,” said Crowley, realizing that he had just asked to do a very intimate action with Azirpahale, although he had just been working on the angel’s wings for several hours.

“Do you… want to?” asked Aziraphale.

“Very much,” said Crowley, his voice coming out a little more breathy than he intended. His heart pounded. “If you’d let me.” 

“Okay,” said Aziraphale, almost smiling. 

Crowley was absolutely smiling. He ran his fingers through both of Aziraphale’s wings as a warm-up, and Aziraphale shivered again. Crowley paused. “Are you cold?” he asked.

“No, I- It just feels good. This is embarrassing but as you can probably tell, I haven’t had my wings groomed in millennia.”

“Well, that’s about to change,” said Crowley. “I do mine every two weeks and I’d be happy to add yours in.”

“I’d like that,” said Aziraphale in a small voice. 

“Alright,” said Crowley. “Down to business.”

First, he pulled out the several layers of molting feathers. They were basically already unattached, and came out very easily. The pile of feathers next to Crowley was growing very large. Aziraphale hummed happily.

Crowley worked from the tips of the wings inward, on both wings. It wasn’t the most effective way to go, but it was the most fun. 

He started with the primary feathers - long and beautiful - running his fingers down them, lining everything up and cleaning out any dirt between them. He summoned up some oil to apply as he went. As he worked his way up into the deeper, more sensitive feathers, Aziraphale’s humming stopped, but his aura was projecting enough happiness that Crowley didn’t stop to ask if he was alright. 

Crowley worked very carefully, checking under every feather, straightening them out, coating them in oil. As he got up into the top feathers, he worked even slower and more thoroughly. He could hear Aziraphale’s breathing speeding up and grinned mischievously. The more agitated Aziraphale got (although he frequently checked into his aura, which was exceedingly joyful), the slower Crowley worked. Then, once every feather was in place and accounted for, Crowley ran his fingers deep through the wings without warning. Aziraphale squeaked and writhed on the spot. “Crowley!” 

Crowley leaned forward and kissed Aziraphale directly between the wings. “Your wings are done, angel.” 

Aziraphale whipped around and knocked Crowley to his back on the floor and kissed him, much harder and more passionately than their first kiss. Their fingers intertwined. When Aziraphale paused for breath he didn’t need he said, “Next time, I do yours.” 

“Yes, angel,” said Crowley, grinning. He had brought this on himself. Intentionally. 

Suddenly, just as Aziraphale was about to kiss Crowley again, the phone rang. 

“Nooo ignore the phone,” said Crowley, but Aziraphale gave him a mischievous look and left him on the floor, to answer the phone.

“Hello?” he said.

“It’s Adam,” said the caller. Aziraphale raised his eyes in surprise. How did Adam even have his number?

“If you’re wondering how I have your number, I simply picked up the phone and said it was going to call you,” said Adam. “I’m calling because I felt your aura disappear from the Earth earlier and wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

“It is now, I think,” said Aziraphale. “Had an unplanned visit to Heaven with some… Unfriendly folks.” 

“I’m not a child, you know,” said the 11-year-old. 

“Yes, alright, I was essentially kidnapped and locked in a room for a long time and it was all an unpleasant experience,” said Aziraphale. “But I really don’t think they’ll be bothering us again.”

“They won’t,” said Adam. “Nobody from Heaven or Hell will bother either of you ever again. What I say is true.” Then he hung up the phone.

Aziraphale stood for a moment, holding the telephone.

“Who was it?” asked Crowley, sitting on the floor and making puppy dog eyes and Aziraphale. 

“That was Adam,” said Aziraphale. “I don’t think anyone’s going to bother us again.” Slowly, he put down the phone, then walked back to Crowley to finish what they’d begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooo it's the Ridiculous Happily Ever After ending I promised  
find my good omens sideblog on tumblr at [@lateineffablemusings](https://lateineffablemusings.tumblr.com/)


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